


Monsters in the Closet

by laura0699



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Boggarts, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laura0699/pseuds/laura0699
Summary: It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.After that, who wouldn't think Buckbeak was Draco Malfoy's Boggart?





	Monsters in the Closet

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SomethingWorthFightingFor](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SomethingWorthFightingFor) collection. 



> It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes. 
> 
> -Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
> 
> All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.  
> A billion thanks to my mentor for their time and work on this story.

**Monsters in the Closet**

“This class is riddikulus.”

The professor gave him a calm look, but at that moment Harry Potter knew Lupin had had just about enough of Malfoy’s attitude. It was becoming less clear who Draco despised more: Lupin or Hagrid. Somehow the blond always managed to make the most interesting lessons turn into a torture for him and the other Slytherins with his needless comments and rude gestures.

Today he’d been especially insufferable, strutting around the school like some wounded war hero after Buckbeak’s attack. Anyone with sense could see his arm was completely fine, and Harry couldn’t piece together why Madam Pomfrey let him wear the bandage to class. Maybe she didn’t know he had left them on.

Harry did what he usually did—ignored him. Lupin did the same by continuing the lesson.

A couple more students went up. What had started as a difficult task—especially for Neville who’d been put on the spotlight as the first to attempt the spell—gradually became simpler as everyone took a crack at it.

Suspense would only last a minute while the incarnated fear stood eyeing its victim, only to be turned into a comedic masterpiece before the room echoed with laughter again.

Harry felt sympathy for those that went forth, all eyes on them and the creature.

It wasn’t so much the spell that was the problem as it was everyone knowing each other’s fears. Of all the people they had to share this lesson with, it was the Slytherins. Harry looked around the room at the contemplative faces and shook his head. As if they needed more tools of manipulation.

He high-fived Ron who’d successfully turned his giant spider into a roller-skating ballerina of doom. The arachnid slipped and landed upside-down with its eight thick, hairy legs high up in the air. Several students laughed, but Harry saw Ron still looked queasy, his red cheeks drained of color.

His turn was coming up. Harry glanced behind him, expecting to see Malfoy’s smirking face, but the blond was gone. Harry blinked and scanned the room again. His gaze flitted among various faces, landing Hermione’s inquiring gaze. He ignored it to avoid questioning—only for him to surmise that Draco Malfoy wasn’t inside the room.

Walking out on a teacher was not his style. He would gladly mock those he found inferior, but not at the cost of house points. This was definitely worth more than a few dozen.

The Boggart was coming for him, but Harry was already prepared to face the Dementor. It was, after all, the very thing that had tormented him since the start of the year and forced him to become the laughing stock of Slytherin house. This was his chance to show them Harry Potter could face the cold beast without fainting.

To his annoyance, Professor Lupin stepped in front of him just as he had begun to raise his wand. The creature morphed into some sort of silvery-white orb—maybe one of Trelawney’s crystal balls—before the spell struck and turned it into a deflating balloon.

It swished in the air over the students’ heads, but no one laughed at the comical sound. Eyes began to fall on Harry, but Professor Lupin played it off like they’d simply run out of time.  A few groaned, buying the farce, but not him.

Slowly, he lowered his wand, his knuckles white from the grip.

He felt a stab in his chest. Did Lupin think he wasn’t strong enough to face a simple _Boggart_? Everyone else had done it. Sure, he’d had a few bad run-ins with Dementors in the last couple days, but he wasn’t weak.

It was a _Boggart, for Merlin’s sake._

Not wanting to look out of place, Harry walked out of the room as soon as the class ended. Despite this, his miserable, slow steps were a sharp contrast to the excited chatter around him. After everyone had moved ahead, Ron and Hermione believing he was just behind them, Harry turned to head back. The professor had to know he could do it.

Even if that wasn’t the case, the bigger question swirled around his mind like the unwelcome ingredient in a potions recipe gone wrong—could he do it? Looking at the situation honestly, he couldn’t think of a single way to make a Dementor appear less threatening, let alone laughable. Still, he kept walking. Just as Harry was beginning to prepare his speech, he halted.

First, he heard the footsteps. Then out of the corner of his eye he spotted McGonagall’s formidable figure walking down the corridor. His desperate need of questioning the professor drained out of him and Harry moved to bolt to his next class. It wasn’t until Malfoy’s voice reached his ears that he turned to look at the full scene just a few meters behind him.

Draco’s voice sounded more intense than he’d ever heard it before, but Harry only heard a few words before retreating to the shadows.

“I won’t do it again, Professor. Take points—give me detention, but _please_ don’t make me go in there.”

McGonagall paused in the middle of the corridor.

“It was Professor Lupin who you disrespected, not me. It is only fair that he decide your punishment. Now,” Mcgonagall’s eyebrows drew together in confusion for the last sentence, “will you please tell me what is so dreadful about confessing to Professor Lupin?”

When Draco didn’t answer, she led him inside the staffroom.

* * *

 

“Draco,” Lupin said, his impatience only visible by the twitch of his brow, “we’ve all faced our fears today. I promise if it gets to be too much, I’ll cast the spell, alright?”

Harry felt no guilt at snooping in on Malfoy’s punishment. Curiosity was both his forte and weakness, but to his disappointment Lupin had yet to punish the blond. Initially, Harry thought it was prideful rebellion that led Malfoy to skip out on the lesson, but when offered an alternative to losing house points and detention, Malfoy’s eyes went livid with fear. He tried to argue the case of his injured arm, only to be reminded by Lupin that his other was in perfect condition. Harry watched his pleading from behind the large bookshelf.

_What was his Boggart?_

The first thing to enter his mind was Buckbeak. Harry had to hold back a laugh at the memory, but a muffled noise still escaped. Thankfully, no one noticed. The accident with Hagrid’s pet had happened in a flash of steely talons. Malfoy’s high-pitched scream had been almost as memorable as his pathetic, whimpering face. The next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.

“I’ll take detention.”

Harry held back another laugh.

“The point is not punishment— _this_ isn’t punishment. It’s a learning experience, and every wizard must learn to perform this spell in order to graduate. Do you honestly wish to be stuck as a Third Year forever?”

There really was no way out. Draco shook his head, not meeting either professor’s eyes. Even Harry was getting a little more than curious to know what his Boggart was—he was restless. For the first time this year, he’d have something to throw back at that insufferable smirking blond. If he was right, a Buckbeak poster might just be plastered in every corridor.

Harry could see it now. How was it that wizards were able to make pictures come to life? Sadly, no one had taught him that useful trick. He resolved to learn in order to witness the screeching blond wonder through the corridors, unable to escape his feathered friend.

“What are you afraid of, Mr. Malfoy?” McGonagall attempted.

Draco was silent for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. After a couple more choked hesitations, Draco managed to say, “I’m not sure.”

Lupin nodded. “Fear of the unknown can be one of the greatest fears.”

Harry noticed McGonagall’s lips thin the way they did when the twins gave her those slightly crooked smiles—she smelled the lie.

Maybe it was his restlessness and hate for Draco mixed with his teachers’ confusion that had blinded him from the signs. Draco shifted towards the closet, bit his lip and scanned the paneled room as if looking for something—a place to run? A place to hide?

Harry was certain it was a Hippogriff now. If not, he imagined a lion or a bear. Draco looked as though he was preparing to be mauled.

Lupin unlocked the closet and a tall, long blond-haired figure stepped out, lips curling at the sight of Lupin before his disdainful, leering features rested on Draco. His robes were impeccable, the light flow looking more like a blade than a feather. There was something about the way he walked that emitted elegance and danger, as if death itself had a cane rather than a scythe.

_Lucius Malfoy? Draco was afraid of his own father?_

To Harry it wouldn’t have come as a surprise if he’d been one of the many Boggarts today. Lucius was, after all, a cold man with a questionable past and an intense glare. Just the person you’d expect and abhor seeing in Knockturn Alley.

But this was _his_ father.

Malfoy’s hands were shaking, his grip on his wand almost inexistent. Was it possible for him to go any whiter without reaching transparency? Still, he met his father’s gaze as if waiting for his eyes to change color.

Thoughts raced through Harry’s brain, none comprehensible. He turned to look at the professors for answers, but Lupin and McGonagall looked just as dumbstruck as he felt.

Lupin was the first to break from their blank stupor by shouting, “Do the spell, Draco!”

Draco, who’d been slowly retreating, jumped slightly and turned to see the Professor waiting. In that moment, Lucius’ eyes changed. Draco stopped backing away, completely frozen in both expression and stance as a small whimper escaped his lips.

It had happened too quickly.

One moment he was a calm, yet slightly bored looking man, and the next his eyes were shining with madness. Harry couldn’t pull away his gaze from Lucius’ eyes. Where had he seen this? Harry was immediately reminded of his Uncle Vernon. It was the same look he gave him just before—

Draco Malfoy was on the ground, clutching his abdomen. The echo of the cane was only heard for a millisecond before the next swing came, hitting him on the left side of his stomach. Then again. And again. And again. Both professors were too stunned to intervene like they had promised.

The image before him changed and Harry stopped seeing a cane, but rather a belt as the memories of being beaten flashed across his eyes. The muffled grunts coming from the floor weren’t Draco’s anymore—they were his own echoing through his mind. He could almost feel his uncle’s belt slapping away, buckle and all, making his skin burn with bloodied gashes.

_“Riddikulus!”_

Harry lowered his wand and pulled away from the memory just as the professor had begun to raise his. Lupin only spared him a glance before kneeling down beside Draco while McGonagall shoved the dreadful creature back in the closet. The cane had been turned into a flower bouquet. It made no one laugh, but the beating stopped. Harry realized how simple making a Dementor look comical was now. Still, it was too late.

“Clever,” Draco choked out, dabbing the blood from his nose with his sleeve. “If only that worked on more than just Boggarts.”

Draco’s body was still shaking, just like Harry’s usually did after another of his uncle’s episodes, making it very probable he wasn’t totally aware that Harry was there or what words left his lips.

Harry threaded a hand through his hair, his stomach twisting. Sighing, he averted his gaze as words threatened to bubble out of his mouth.

_If only indeed._

**_The End_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism and comments welcomed. I hope you enjoyed this story!


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